


Fingertips, Like Memories

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blood Magic, Established Relationship, M/M, Monster of the Week, Panic Attacks, Sorceresses, Sterek Campaign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes up to an empty bed. It isn't until he gets to school that he realizes something is wrong. Derek is missing, and no one seems remember him except for Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fingertips, Like Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myirredeemable](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=myirredeemable).



> Written for the SC Auction, for myirredeemable.
> 
> thank you to my betas: lauren, bk, mel, and beth! 
> 
> as always I can be found at [attoliancrown](http://attoliancrown.tumblr.com).

The bed was empty beside him as Stiles awoke, his hand stretched out to where Derek should be. Cool sheets met his hand when it should be warm from his body heat. Stiles opened his eyes, a frown washing over his entire face as he groggily rolled over. Derek never woke up before he did, wasn't a morning person in the slightest. Getting Derek out of bed was a hassle, but Stiles never blamed him. He, too, liked the comfort of warm blankets and limbs tangled together. Waking up alone was jarring. 

Stiles sat up, rubbing at his eyes idly as his brain woke up more. With a hazy mind, he looked around his room. None of Derek's clothes were strewn across it from when they had undressed each other the night before. An unsettling feeling rushed through his body as he pushed the sheets away from himself. He showered, then got dressed. He checked his phone, hoping for a text from Derek, but there was none. Derek never left without a kiss goodbye or a text saying where he was headed so early in the morning. Stiles thought about texting him but held off. He didn't want to be clingy because normally he wasn't, but something wasn't right. He felt it deep within his bones; something was off. 

Getting into his Jeep, Stiles looked around for the jacket Derek left in it the day before. He distinctly remembered Derek taking it off after they ate dinner, throwing it into the backseat. The jacket was gone. Clenching his jaw, Stiles started his car. It could be nothing, really. Derek could have easily gotten into his Jeep, which he didn't lock, to get his jacket before he left. Nothing to worry about, really. Derek loved that jacket, he wouldn't just leave it around. 

At school, Stiles checked his phone between classes. He was jittery, his leg bouncing unrelentingly as he watched the clock count down the day. Lunch was spent with his friends, but he kept his worries to himself. They sat outside, where there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was warm for spring, and Stiles found himself taking off his plaid shirt. He almost forgot about the hickey that Derek had given him the night before on his upper arm. It wasn't unusual, for Derek to mark him all over, but usually Stiles stayed covered up. With widened eyes, he searched his arm, and then the other; he didn't see any mark. 

He would have sworn that the amount of attention Derek had paid to the area, that something would have surfaced, would be visible across his skin. Scott gave Stiles odd looks as he pushed up his sleeves, searching for any sign of bruising. His arms were completely bare, save for the odd mole. Stiles decided to excuse himself and make his way to the bathroom. Once there, he stripped off his shirt. Where there should be bite marks the size of Derek's mouth, there was nothing. No hickeys, no marks of any kind, just stark, pale skin dotted with birthmarks and moles. Stiles' chest constricted. 

After splashing water on his face to calm down, Stiles made his way to his locker. Inside was a picture of Derek, taken sneakily one night during a pack meeting. Stiles could picture it in his mind, the look on Derek’s face: serene, a small smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. What Stiles needed at that moment was a reminder of that time. The pit in his stomach was growing by the second, and the picture would settle that feeling of unease which plagued him. 

His locker was empty, void of any picture of Derek. Where it should be, right next to him and Scott, there was nothing. Stiles’ jaw clenched as he looked around the hallway, at the other students passing by. A picture couldn’t just up and leave, it had to be somewhere. Only Scott knew Stiles’ locker combo, so he reluctantly made his way back outside to the picnic table his friends were seated at. 

“Scott, man, did you take the picture of Derek out of my locker?” Stiles asked, trying to keep the ever rising beat of his heart as steady as possible. With his hands on his hips, he gripped his shirt tight as a look of confusion dawned across Scott’s face. 

“Derek?” Scott asked, looking to Isaac for a moment, who sat across from him. “I don’t-”

“Yeah, you know, the one where I managed to get one of him without his eyes going all flashy werewolf on me? Where he’s smiling?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude,” Scott said, wide-eyed. Stiles let out a frustrated groan as he carded his fingers through his hair. Maybe Scott didn’t know where it went to. “Who’s Derek?”

Stiles swore his heart stopped for a second, that all air passages closed up, that he was suffocating on Scott’s words. Leaning over the picnic table, Stiles put a hand down to steady himself. 

“What do you mean, who’s Derek?” Stiles asked, his voice shaking. “Derek, you know, broody werewolf? You guys had trust issues, totally brothers now,” Stiles rambled, looking around the table to find blank faces staring back at him. “He’s Derek Hale? Former alpha, current boyfriend, stop with the jokes-”

“Stiles,” Scott said with a shake of his head. “The alpha was Peter, you know that-”

“And then Derek killed him, he was the alpha. Turned Erica and Boyd-” 

“We all killed Peter, don’t you remember that?” Scott asked with a worried tone. His voice was soft, calm, like he was attempting to keep Stiles the same way. He even had a hand out, touching Stiles’ forearm. Stiles could hear the beat of his heart, could feel it pumping the blood through his veins as his vision blurred. He tried to lick his lips, to breathe through his mouth but he felt like the world was spinning around him. 

“Someone help him,” Stiles heard Lydia say, her voice higher pitched than normal. 

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Allison said as he felt hands on him. He had been on the ground, apparently. He felt sick, like he could throw up at any second. Derek, something was wrong with Derek. 

Stiles startled when he felt cool water cascade over his body. He had his back against the wall as water from the shower head beat down against him. Scott was there, kneeling in front of him with his hands on Stiles’ knees. Stiles hit his head idly against the tiled wall as his eyes searched the room to find Allison, Lydia, and Isaac all standing to the side, watching him closely. 

“Can you at least make the water warmer?” Stiles asked, his voice completely shot. “Cold.” 

“Yeah,” Scott said, immediately reaching up to change the temperature. Stiles was completely soaked through, and he didn’t want to think about how disgusting the floor of the boys’ locker room showers was, he really didn’t. 

“Want to talk about it?” Scott asked after a long silence. Stiles opened his eyes, which he hadn’t realized he had even closed, to find that they were alone in the locker room. The shower was turned off, and he had a towel wrapped around him. He was shaking from his cold, clinging clothes. 

“Not really,” Stiles said, his jaw clenched tight to keep his teeth from chattering. 

“Bro, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” Stiles said as he looked away from his best friend. “I think I need to go home.” 

Scott found clothes in Stiles’ locker. They smelled a little stale, definitely needed to be washed, but they were better than what Stiles was wearing. He had to go commando, but he didn’t really care; he just needed to get home. Scott ditched with him, completely brushing off the last half of the day. He even drove, with Stiles in the passenger seat, his body slouched and a hood over his head as he looked out the window. 

His dad wasn’t due home until after seven, so when Scott dropped him off and offered to stay, Stiles didn’t say no. Once upstairs, Scott sat at Stiles’ desk, swirling around as Stiles paced the room. 

“Okay, there has to be something,” Stiles said as he looked around his room, then through his dirty clothes hamper. There had to be something of Derek’s there. 

“Like what?” Scott asked. 

“Like, a sock, or underwear, or a shirt. I know I have a shirt-”

“Stiles...”

“I like to sleep in it, alright? It’s just black, a V-neck, really fucking soft, and-”

Scott’s hands were on Stiles’ shoulders, stilling him. He was hyperventilating and his clothes were thrown across the room. The black shirt wasn’t there, nothing of Derek’s was there. Stiles bit his lip, unsure of whether to cry or to rip his entire room apart. 

“Stiles, I don’t think- I mean, you say Derek was here, but we don’t know a Derek.” Stiles swallowed, his mouth dry as memories of Derek flashed across his mind. 

“We met him in the woods, looking for your inhaler, after you got bitten,” Stiles said, searching Scott’s eyes for any recognition. “You didn’t know you were a werewolf yet, though.”

“I remember finding my inhaler, but there was no one there with us, Stiles,” Scott said delicately. 

“His sister’s body was the one we found!” Stiles said, shoving back from Scott. “And the kanima, that was because he bit Jackson-”

“Jackson? Like my co-captain, Jackson?”

“Yeah, he moved to London-”

“No, he’s at school. He’s a douche, you know that, especially after he broke up with Lydia.” Stiles shook his head, because everything was wrong. 

“This isn’t right,” Stiles said. “Derek is real, he is connected to me, to us. He’s pack.”

“I think I’d remember if you had a boyfriend, Stiles,” Scott pointed out. “Maybe you had a really intense dream-”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Stiles dismissed. “It was real. Something is happening, and I need to figure it out. Last night I went to bed with him beside me, and this morning I woke up to him gone.”

“Sounds like a wet dream,” Scott said, barely audible. “I mean, come on Stiles. You’ve never even been-”

“Hey!” Stiles said, his voice rising. “I have, alright? Many times, I’m good at it, actually. Don’t patronize me, bro.” Scott lifted his hands in submission as Stiles took a deep breath. “We’re going to his loft.”

“Loft? He has a loft?” Scott asked. Stiles gave Scott a look, but didn’t comment. At least that time he didn’t deny Derek’s being real. 

“Are you coming with me or not?” Stiles asked, unsure if Scott wanted to do this, to follow him around as he got Derek back. 

“Duh,” Scott said, looking incredulous. Stiles grinned for the first time that day, glad that his best friend would follow him anywhere. 

Stiles drove to the loft. Scott rode beside him in silence, the sound of Stiles’ fingertips beating against the steering wheel the only thing filling the void. 

“So, he’s older?” Scott asked, unsure. Stiles nodded his head as he gnawed at his bottom lip. “Like, how old?” 

“Like, if his sister hadn’t died, he’d be graduating college right now.” 

“Huh,” Scott said, but didn’t say anything more. Stiles watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Scott really believed him or not. 

“He was thinking about going back,” Stiles added. “He had a few semesters left at NYU, but obviously he dropped out when Laura-”

“Laura?” Scott asked. 

“His sister, the girl cut in half, that Peter killed?” 

“Oh, right. We never knew her name,” Scott said. 

“Well, it was Derek’s sister; Peter’s niece.” 

“What?” Scott asked, shocked. “Derek is related to Peter, the guy that bit me? You’re fucking the-”

“Hey,” Stiles said as they pulled into the parking lot. “It’s complicated, alright? Derek’s not his uncle. I mean there was a time there when we wanted him arrested, but-”

“You’re not helping,” Scott said as he followed Stiles out of the Jeep. Scott looked wary as they took the freight elevator up to the top floor. It was only then that Stiles realized he no longer had a key to the loft. He checked his keyring twice over right outside the door. Scott waited in silence as Stiles reached out to try to open it himself. 

“Dude, you can’t do that,” Scott said as he reached out, grabbing hold of Stiles’ wrist. “That’s someone’s apartment-”

“I know,” Stiles said, his brow furrowed. “It’s Derek’s.”

“No-”

Stiles opened the door, sliding it open. Inside, there was nothing. No old couch, no desk, no bed in the corner. The only thing that remained was the hole in the wall that Derek never got around to refinishing. His heart sank, along with the hope that this was all some sort of game. Stiles stepped inside, his eyes glancing towards the spiral staircase. He made a beeline towards it. 

“Stiles, Stiles come on, stop it. This is getting a bit-” Stiles rounded on Scott, his fists clenched, keeping him from continuing on. 

“Don’t, Scott. I need to find him.”

“There is no ‘him’!” Scott called out as Stiles climbed the stairs. Something was wrong, here, there had to be something, anything of Derek’s. This was all some sort of ruse. Derek could be in some sort of trouble. Stiles looked around the second story, searching the empty space. Stiles raked his teeth over his bottom lip where it was so raw he could feel its tenderness. He thought about Derek and how much time they had spent up here, lounging around together, reading, fucking, touching each other. 

He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he thought about what could be happening. Stiles turned towards Scott, his eyes wide. 

“Don’t you see what’s going on here?” Stiles said, his arms flailing about. “He’s been taken.”

“What?” Scott asked, his face contorting unbelievably. “No, dude, I don’t think-”

“Yeah, it makes sense. He’s real, okay, and he needs my help.” 

“Stiles-”

“Stop giving me that look,” Stiles said. “It’s making me mad.”

“Well, you’re acting a bit mad,” Scott jibbed. “Yesterday you weren’t like this, you know. You didn’t have a fake boyfriend who’s gone missing, weren’t breaking and entering-”

“It isn’t breaking and entering if this is his place, Scott,” Stiles pointed out. “If he wasn’t real, someone else would be in here.” Silence hung between them as Stiles thought of what to do next. “We should go to Deaton.”

“What? Why?” Scott asked. “What could he do?” 

“Maybe somewhere in that back room of his he has a magic book that could get him back, or maybe he would be a pal and not be vague for once,” Stiles mumbled as he walked past Scott, making his way back down the spiral staircase. 

Deaton met them at the front desk with his eyebrows raised. 

“Scott, Stiles, I would say that I am surprised to see you, but then again...” 

“Alright,” Stiles said, cutting to the chase. “Do you, or do you not remember Derek Hale?” Stiles asked, holding his breath as he waited for a response. Of course, Deaton took his time in answering. 

“Hale?” He asked as Stiles nodded his head vigorously. “Well, the Hales were a big family, who lived out in the preserve, but they’re all dead now, thanks to you two and Peter Hale.”

“Okay, yeah, no. That’s not right,” Stiles said, his hand slamming down on the counter. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “Derek Hale, he and his sister survived, actually two of them, but that isn’t the point right now. The point is something has happened, and we need to right it.”

“What happened?” Deaton asked. 

“Derek Hale is real, he is alive, and he is missing.” Deaton exchanged a look with Scott, then looked at Stiles for more information. “I think it’s got something to do with magic, like someone came through and erased him. His stuff is gone, but no one else is in his loft, like they didn’t bother replacing anything, it’s just gone.” 

“Hmm,” Deaton said vaguely. 

“Do you, uh, do you know of something that could do that?” Stiles asked, hopeful. Deaton immediately crushed any thought of help by shaking his head. “I mean, like spells, or anything that could potentially make someone disappear? Like, you don’t remember him, Scott doesn’t, no one but me remembers him.”

“Well, Stiles-”

“If you say I am going crazy then I swear to god, like, this is the opposite. You all are the ones that had something happen to you. I don’t know why I am the only one that can remember him, but I think it’s serious. What if, if I don’t find him soon, I forget too? What if he’ll be gone forever?” 

Stiles didn’t want to think about a life without Derek in it, it was almost too much to handle. Not only had Derek saved him a number of times, but he had saved Derek in return. Derek, through all his flaws, helped get the pack to stabilize. He couldn’t believe he had gone to bed the night before with Derek in his arms, only to wake up to find the bed cold and empty. 

“Is there anything that you know of, anything at all?” Stiles asked again, desperate. He was driving blind here, didn’t know how to even go about research people who have disappeared from other’s minds. He knew without Deaton, it would be a dead end. 

“I haven’t really heard of anything like that,” Deaton admitted. “It would be a very powerful magic, not done by an emissary like myself. We deal in mostly powders, in herbs. What you’re looking for is a witch, or an entire coven of them, or perhaps a sorceress would be more apt of a name.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, licking his lips. He could deal with witches, surely.

“I think that, no matter the spell, it didn’t work right. If it had, he would be completely wiped from your memory as well. Something must have happened during the incantation, a mistake must have been made. You have to figure out not only the spell used, but where the mistake was made. Maybe then, you’d be able to bring him back.”

“Okay, how can I do that? Do you have a list of spells or something super helpful back there?”

“I don’t, but my sister might,” Deaton said, reaching for the phone. 

Waiting for Marin Morrell to arrive felt like an eternity to Stiles. He sat in the waiting room, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, hands cupping his face. He tried to think about Derek, about every instance that his life mixed with everyone else’s. He didn’t understand how they couldn’t remember, how they didn’t see the gaps that would surely be there in Derek’s absence. 

“Stiles,” Morrell said as she stood in front of him, grabbing his attention. Stiles looked up at her, unaware of how long she had been standing before him. He stood up, his nerves running through him, unable to keep himself still. Morrell gave him a small smile before she spoke again. 

“Come with me,” she said cryptically. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her but followed her out the front door, leaving Scott behind with Deaton. 

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked her as they approached her motorcycle. 

“We’re going where you need to be,” she said as shoved a helmet at Stiles. He rolled his eyes; she really was Deaton’s sister. He climbed onto the bike, his legs pinned against hers, straddling her back as she turned it on. He clung to her sides, having never been on a motorcycle before. With one last look at the veterinary clinic, Stiles held his breath. 

They drove for miles, heading out of town. Stiles didn’t like the feeling of dread that filled his stomach, or the fact that he left his Jeep at the clinic and had no way home without the aid of Morrell. He did know, though, that this was his only chance to find Derek, to fix whatever this spell was. 

The house they pulled up to was simple, plain, and looked like all the others on the street. They were a few towns over, a little over an hour away, and Stiles was lying if he said he knew how to get back to Beacon Hills on his own. He followed Marin into the house, to which she had a set of keys, which told him that she lived there. 

“Now, Alan told me what’s happened, that there is someone missing from people’s minds, except from yours, correct?” She asked as she slipped out of her leather jacket. Stiles nodded his head as he worried at his bottom lip. “And you are sure this wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive,” Stiles said with a shuddering breath. “He is real, and he’s missing. We need to get him back.” Marin let out a long sigh as she pulled out a book from a shelf that Stiles hadn’t even really noticed, as if it had appeared out of no where. 

“It sounds to me like someone did a spell, but it was corrupted at some point. I don’t think you were ever supposed to remember him.” 

“That’s... that’s...” Stiles didn’t want to think about what would happen if he forgot Derek, if everyone did. “Please tell me you know the spell.”

“I have heard of it,” Marin said as she flipped through the book. “It is difficult, takes at least four sorceresses-”

“So not witches?” Stiles asked.

“Not witches,” Marin told him with raised eyebrows. “Their magic is different. There are two sides to magic, in general, a light and a dark side-” Stiles snorted, unable to help himself. 

“Seriously? Light and dark side? Like the force?” Marin looked about ready to roll her eyes out of the back of her head. “Sorry, sorry. Please go on, I just wasn’t expecting that.” 

“Like I said, a light and a dark side. Some magic uses both. An emissary uses light, uses the earth and its ingredients. Witches use not only earth, but also incantation magic from both dark and light.” Stiles would normally be interested in the lesson, but all he wanted was for Marin to get to the point. At least she wasn’t being withholding with the information itself, much like her brother normally does. At least he had that. “Sorceresses’ spells are more complex, they come from within. You have to possess a certain... spark to be able to perform these spells, most of which come from a book, and most of which are dark magic.” 

Stiles’ ears perked up at the word ‘spark’. He had heard the term in regard to magic before, when talking about himself. Stiles gulped as he attempted to form his words. 

“So sorceresses used a spell from a book to eliminate him from people’s minds, but it was corrupted, and we need to stop it.” Marin’s finger was a book page, pointing at a spell as she looked Stiles over. “Deaton said I had a spark.” That got a smirk out of her, which chilled Stiles down to the bone. 

“I’m sure he did,” she said as her eyes cast downward. “This spell, like I said, needs four sorceresses. Derek Hale, whoever he is, must have been important to someone.”

“He was to me,” Stiles said without thinking. Marin was silent for awhile as she read over the spell. “What if, what if my spark, no matter how small, was enough, paired with my... feelings for him, to corrupt the spell?”

“That could be something,” Marin said, looking Stiles over once more. “I wonder...”

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“I wonder if you’re the key,” she said simply. “I think what I am going to need from you is your blood.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles asked, wide-eyed, as he held his arm against his chest protectively. “I don’t think so.”

“I think your blood, which wasn’t contaminated by the spell, would help either to weaken it further, or break the spell altogether.” 

“I think that doesn’t sound good,” Stiles said, not wanting to hand over something like that to someone who, up until this point, was rather neutral. He didn’t know what she was going to do with it. 

“Virgin blood is powerful-”

“I’m not a virgin,” Stiles said. “Derek and I-”

“That’s not what ‘virgin’ means in spell casting,” Marin said, frustrated. “Virgin blood means blood that has yet to be used in a spell. That paired with you being the only one who remembers him... it’s the best chance we have of breaking the spell.” 

Stiles thrust his arm at her but looked away. He hated needles, hated blood, and really, he didn’t want to do this but he had to find Derek. Marin grabbed his wrist with her cool hands, bringing him closer towards her. He felt a blade run across his arm. It throbbed as blood spilled down his arm. He could hear it dripping into a pan. When he chanced a glance, he saw the cut on his arm, bigger than he thought it would be. Blood was pouring out fast as it filled the ornate pan. 

“How much-” Stiles began to say before he felt himself weaken. There was a lot of blood, so much of it. “Stop it,” he urged her. 

“Every spell has its price to pay,” Stiles heard Marin say as he fell to the ground, fainting. 

When he came to, he had a headache. There was a bandage wrapped around his arm where it still throbbed. He was on a couch, Marin’s couch, and it was the sun that woke him up. He had school. Stiles sat up just as Marin walked into the room. 

“You ready?” She asked him. 

“I don’t know if I can ride on a bike right now,” Stiles admitted as he stood up. His mouth tasted stale, and he knew he needed a shower, but he doubted he would get to do either of those things before the bell. 

“I have a car, too,” Marin said as she jangled her keys at him. “Come on.”

In the car, Stiles stayed silent as he picked at his bandage. It wasn’t until they reached the Beacon Hills city limit that he spoke up. 

“Did you do it? The spell?” He asked. 

“No,” Marin said. “I told you, it takes four.” 

“Do you know four?” He asked. 

“I know two, plus me, and you,” she said, giving him a once over. Stiles bristled. 

“I’m not a sorcerer.” 

“And I’m not a sorceress,” she pointed out. “I’m an emissary, I use natural ingredients. I don’t use blood.”

“Jennifer was an emissary, she used dark magic,” Stiles mumbled. Marin stopped the car. 

“Jennifer?” She asked. 

“Yeah, Jennifer? Darach? You know, clawed face, originally named Julia? Wow, am I the only one that remembers shit around here?” 

“Hmm,” Marin said evasively. “I’ll pull you out of class today, I want to hear more about this Jennifer.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said as she dropped him off at the front of the school. Waiting for him there was Scott. 

“Dude, I had to cover for you,” he said. Stiles gave him a confused look, but then it dawned on him: his dad. 

“Oh, shit. Well I didn’t know I was going to be gone all night, I sort of passed out, so-”

“Do I smell blood on you? What happened?” Scott asked, worried. Stiles explained on the way to their first class. Stiles watched the clock, wondering when Marin would call him out of class. It was torture, sitting through his classes when he knew that Derek was somewhere. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he may be dead. Something deep down told Stiles that Derek was alive, and that he needed Stiles’ help. 

It wasn’t until after lunch that Stiles got a slip to go visit the counselor. He practically ran down the hall to her office. Out of breath, panting, he opened the door to find her sitting at her desk, calmly waiting for him. He collapsed into the chair in front of her desk. He spent the rest of the period telling her about all their adversaries, about how he remembered defeating them. Marin, through Alan, knew very different versions, Derek-free ones that, to Stiles, didn’t quite make sense. 

“I talked with the two sorceresses I know, discreetly, and both agreed to help us.”

“Will it work if we aren’t... that powerful?” Stiles asked. 

“Most of it has to do with the amount of bodies used in the spell itself. You and I won’t be the ones doing the incantation, they will be.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, unease creeping into his mind. He didn’t feel comfortable doing this, but he would do just about anything to get Derek back. “When?”

“Tonight.”

Somehow, Stiles made it through the rest of the day. He didn’t pay attention, but with his 3.5 GPA, he figured a few days of slacking wouldn’t hurt him too much. He and Scott took the Jeep home. When he pulled in, his dad was waiting in the den with his arms crossed. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Something’s up,” the sheriff said. “You two are going to sit down and explain yourselves.”

“Uh-” Stiles said as he slowly sat down on the couch with Scott following after him. “Well, dad, you see-”

“No lies,” the sheriff said. “Is this werewolf business?” Stiles deflated. At least his dad knew in this bizarro alternate universe. He would have hated to have to explain that to him on top of a missing boyfriend. 

“Sort of?” Stiles said, wincing. He knew that wasn’t helping what was going on by saying that, but he had to scramble to figure out what to say to his father. “It has to do with a werewolf, who is missing. I need to find him.”

“You? You personally need to find him?” His dad asked. “Why you?”

“Because he’s my boyfriend,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. This was awkward because his dad hadn’t known even when everyone knew who Derek was. 

“Excuse me?” The sheriff said, his eyebrows lifting. “Boyfriend? Since when?” He was looking to Scott who put his hands up as he shook his head. Stiles knew Scott wouldn’t be much help in this, so he had to make his dad understand. 

“Something weird happened, Dad. It has to do with spells and sorceresses, and stuff I don’t want you involved in-”

“So what makes it okay for you to be involved in it?” 

“Point, Dad, you have a point, but if I don’t, then no one will. No one remembers him, and I’m not going to let him just disappear like that.” The sheriff was quiet as he listened to Stiles. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look like he was about to ground Stiles, either. 

“I’m going with you,” he said. 

“What? No, Dad-”

“No _if_ ’s, _and_ ’s, or _but_ ’s,” he added. “Someone goes missing, it’s my job to help get them back.” Stiles nodded his head, glad his father was taking it better than he thought he would. “But after we find this boyfriend of yours, we’re having a discussion.” Stiles decided he could live with that. 

They rode to Marin’s in the sheriff’s vehicle, with Scott in the back. When they rang her doorbell, she seemed surprised to find that Stiles wasn’t alone. 

“Sheriff,” she said with a nod of her head. “Good to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” he said, giving Stiles a look as they entered the house. There were the sorceresses, who looked just like normal people, along with Stiles’ blood. Subconsciously, Stiles held his arm, hoping his father wouldn’t put two and two together. 

“If you two could sit on the couch as we do this, and do not move,” Marin said, pointing at the couch that was now pushed against the wall. She had hold of Stiles’ arm, urging him towards the two sorceresses. “This is Stacy and Teresa, and this is Stiles.” Stiles shook their hands, which felt weird considering he wasn’t exactly sure what they were about to do. 

“How do we do this?” Stiles asked. “I mean, we don’t have anything of Derek’s, to like, tether to? Or something. I’m not entirely sure what we are doing.” 

“We’re going to hopefully reverse their spell,” Teresa said. “Since theirs is corrupt, and we have the corrupted piece here, then we think it is doable.”

“Corrupted piece? Do you mean me?” Stiles asked, still hugging his arm close. A chill ran down his back as Stacy smirked at him. 

“Yes, you,” she said, booping his nose with her finger. Stiles swatted at it, feeling an electric charge, making his nose tingle. “You’re going to help break that spell.”

“Well, your blood is,” Teresa said. Stiles looked to his dad, who looked about done. “Stay seated, Sheriff, or we’re going to have to ask you to leave. Do not interfere, or someone could get hurt.” Her voice wasn’t kind, and the room was definitely full of magic. It sparked around Stiles, making the air around him thick, like he couldn’t move. 

“Marin, link hands with us, Stiles, you do the same. Let us do the talking,” Teresa said, placing the book in front of her on a music stand, with the page to the spell open. Stiles gave his father one last look before he held hands with Marin and Stacy. In front of them was the ornate pan of his blood, along with the book. 

As Teresa began chanting in a language that Stiles couldn’t understand, he felt the cut on his arm tingling. The feeling spread up his arm and over his entire body. He was frightened at what was happening, as his blood in the pan began to bubble. Marin’s grip tightened, as if she was grounding him. The tingling quickly turned into pain. Stiles felt as though he was being stabbed repeatedly, as if the spell itself was attacking him. 

He screamed for what felt like ages before he came to in a heap on the ground, in his father’s arms. He was covered in sweat and could barely lift his arm. 

“Explain yourselves,” the sheriff hissed. 

“We performed the spell,” Teresa said as she bent over with a cool washcloth, dabbing at Stiles’ brow with it. 

“Did it work?” Stiles asked, his voice hoarse. They all exchanged looks with each other. 

“Only one thing left to do,” Marin said from behind the sheriff. “You have to find him.” 

“How am I supposed to do that?” Stiles asked. “I thought the spell would be broken and he’d appear. Do you guys remember him?” He asked his father and Scott.

“No,” Scott said, sounding hurt. Stiles rested his head against his father, his eyes closing; he was exhausted. 

Stiles slept on the way back to Beacon Hills, in the back of the cruiser while Scott rode shotgun. Scott carried Stiles up to his room, laying him in his bed. Once his head hit the pillow, though, his eyes shot open, his hand grabbing onto Scott’s shirt. 

“Do you smell anything?” Stiles asked. 

“What?” Scott asked. 

“Smell, do you smell anything in here that doesn’t smell like me?” Stiles asked, his heart racing. “What if the spell took his things, but didn’t mask his scent. What if there is something in here that could help you track him.”

“I could try,” Scott said, bending over to sniff at Stiles’ bed. “I smell you, and uh, you need to change your sheets,” Scott said with a wrinkled nose. Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott as he sat up in bed, watching Scott sniff around his room. 

“Try the hamper,” Stiles suggests. 

“Dude,” Scott whined, not wanting to get personal with Stiles’ boxers. 

“Just try, alright?” Stiles said as he got out of bed. He could barely walk, stumbling towards Scott, but he somehow managed to get to the hamper. He dug through it, thinking about what Derek had been near. Stiles shoved a shirt in Scott’s face, hoping that what he wore the other day had some semblance of Derek on it. 

“It smells like you,” Scott said, then took the shirt from him, smelling it more. “I can smell something else on it, but it could just be pizza.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles said with no vehemence to his tone as he exchanged the shirt with the pants he was wearing the other day, when Derek gave him a blow job. He wasn’t about to tell Scott that, though, but the look in Scott’s eyes told him he already knew. 

“Dude-”

“Just sniff it,” Stiles begged. “Come on, man, I’m desperate here.” 

“I mean, I smell you? But I smell... someone else, too.”

“That could be Derek, let’s see if you can find another shirt or something with that on it-”

“I mean, now that I got really close to it, I can smell it everywhere in here,” Scott said as he looked around the room. “It was just like, faint, like someone masked it.”

“Maybe it is the spell weakening?” Stiles asked even though Scott wouldn’t know the answer. “Can you track it at all?” 

“I don’t know if it’s strong enough,” Scott admitted. 

“We could go back to the loft, or the Hale house.”

“Hale house?” Scott asked. 

“Yeah, the burnt out house-” Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. “I wonder if they are there...”

“Why would they be there-”

“No, not at the house, at the Nemeton!” Stiles said as he rushed out of his room and down the stairs. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” The sheriff asked as Stiles grabbed his keys from the keyring by the door. 

“To get Derek,” Stiles said as Scott ran down the stairs after him. 

“Not without me you’re not,” the sheriff said. “And I’m driving.”

The awesome thing about having a cop as a dad is that they could put the sirens on as they sped towards the preserve. They grabbed flashlights out of the trunk before they set out on foot towards the Nemeton. 

“I smell him,” Scott said, putting his hand out and stilling Stiles’ movements. “He’s here.” Stiles’ stomach tightened as he thought about how they managed to find him. Now he had to fight back the worry that he could be dead, could have been used as a sacrifice. 

“What do we do?” Stiles whispered, looking to his dad who had his gun out, just in case. 

“Stay behind me,” the sheriff said as he pushed both of the boys behind him. Scott had his claws out, ready for anything, as Stiles manned the flashlight. 

The Nemeton was empty, dark when they got to it, but the cellar door was open nearby. Stiles gulped as he watched his father step down into it. Scott ran down after him, but Stiles remained frozen in place as four figures came into view. 

“You,” one of the hooded figures said, their voice echoing around him as if it was bouncing off of the trees. “You are the reason the spell broke.”

“A mere novice,” another said, disgusted. 

“Not even a novice,” the one now by Stiles’ side said. “He didn’t even mean to break the spell.”

“It’s not broken,” Stiles said, his voice shaking. “They don’t remember.”

“Of course not,” one of the sorceresses said. “Not broken as in turned right again, broken as in corrupted it. If it had worked, you wouldn’t be here searching for him.”

“Why did you take him?” Stiles asked. 

“To restore the Nemeton,” a sorceress said. “He gave it life, we intend to put things right by using him.”

“But you haven’t… not yet...”

“No,” one of them said, taking her hood down. “We had to wait for the corrupted part of the spell to appear.”

“What-” Stiles barely managed to struggle as he was bound, his voice taken from him by one of the sorceresses putting a hand to his throat. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. With a snap of their fingers, Derek appeared on the Nemeton, unconscious. Stiles looked to the cellar door, hoping that Scott and his dad would reappear.

As if on cue, the cellar doors slammed shut. Stiles could hear banging, along with his father’s and Scott’s shouts. They shoved Stiles up onto the Nemeton, making him fall on top of Derek. He could move his hands once more, he found. He scrambled in an attempt to get off the Nemeton but found that he couldn’t step off of it. Instead of fighting against the invisible forcefield, Stiles dropped to his knees in front of Derek. 

He was breathing, he was alive. Derek wasn’t some made-up dream, even if they were living in a nightmare. He could save them. Stiles looked up at the sorceresses, his eyes narrow as he thought about the little he knew about them. They stood at four points surrounding the Nemeton with their hands in the air. A half-full moon hung in the air above them, giving Stiles enough light. Quickly, Stiles ripped off his bandage. With shaky hands, he dug his nails into his wound, hard enough to reopen it. He smeared the blood on his fingers as he felt his heartbeat in his ears. 

The seconds went by like hours as he traced blood over Derek’s face in the shape he saw in the book that Teresa read from. Then, on pure instinct, he drew the same on his own arm, following with a third on the Nemeton. Within the blink of an eye, the Nemeton began to glow bright, as if lit up by millions of fireflies. Stiles felt the energy swell as he grabbed hold of Derek, closing his eyes tight as the power exploded around them, sending the sorceresses onto their backs. 

“What have you done?” One shouted as the door to the cellar burst open. 

“Stiles, Derek, are you two okay?” Scott shouted as the sheriff ran towards the sorceresses. Stiles nodded, his hands cupping Derek’s face, his fingers tracing over his features. Derek’s eyes opened slowly, his mouth turning upward as he reached up with a hand to touch Stiles’ face. 

“You came,” Derek said weakly. Stiles couldn’t help but laugh as he looked up at Scott. 

“We’re okay,” he said as he remained hunched over Derek’s body. The sheriff, with Scott’s help, got all four sorceresses into handcuffs and into the back of the cruiser, even if it was a tight squeeze.

“We’ll be back for you,” Scott assured Stiles before he got into the front seat with the sheriff. They were stopping by the vet clinic first in order to get something to keep their powers subdued once away from the Nemeton itself. Stiles sat there with Derek, surrounded by darkness, but it was a darkness he felt comfortable with. With Derek in his arms, alive, he knew he would be okay. 

Stiles cupped Derek’s face with his blood smeared hands, thumbing across his stubbled cheeks as Derek’s own hands tugged at Stiles’ shirt to urge him forward. When their lips met, Stiles swore he felt a spark.


End file.
